The End Of Us All
by nemesis1807
Summary: Jane wants revenge for perceived wrongs. Nicholas wants a place he fits in the world. Deklin wants to hold on to past glory. Myra wants security. When these four lives intersect, they will have to fight for what they want and victory is far from assured. Except for the Outsider, of course, because all he wants is some entertainment. He will not be disappointed.
1. An End to Solitude

**This story continues on from my previous story, ****Marked****, and you may be confused as to who the characters are if you haven't read it already.**

**To all the fans of ****Marked: **** I hope you like this as much as you did my other story, and if I mess anything up, feel free to send a criticizing review.**

**Hope I don't disappoint!**

I flip through the pages, the sound of crinkling paper lost amid the noise of the city. Even here, in an abandoned warehouse far from the bustle of the main streets, I cannot escape the ceaseless cacophony of sound!

So loud, so chaotic! Made only worse with those machines popping up everywhere. Numerous feet hitting paved stone, dogs barking, rats scurrying, wheels clattering, voices, oh the voices, always talking even in the dead of night. When does it ever stop?

It is times like these that I truly miss my cell. It was damp, cold, smelled of waste and unwashed bodies, mold grew on the walls and I was always hungry, but at least it was quiet. What I wouldn't do for a little silence!

I gather up my things and work my way down to the ground floor, carefully picking my way across rotting wooden floors and rusty metal beams. I go to the room I had claimed for myself, small and dark with the floor covered in a nest of old blankets and threadbare quilts. The walls here are thick, blocking out more of the sound. At last I can think, can hear my own thoughts.

Huh. If it were to become quiet enough, could I hear somebody elses thoughts? Hear the gears turning in their minds, see what they plan to do before they do it. My own thoughts turn to the basement of the warehouse, all the other questions I've tried to answer in its dark depths. Yes, that will be another experiment to perform, but for now I must focus. Besides, people are starting to take notice of all the disappearances. I need to wait lest I draw the attention of the Overseers.

The Overseers. I feel a chill travel down my spine and a twinge of remembered pain from all my old wounds. No, he can't hurt me anymore. I left him bleeding, beaten, broken. He can't hurt me anymore. I remember that night, how sweet it had been. Nothing was more exhilerating than having a long fantasized moment played out and it being just as good as you envisioned it.

No, I can't think about the Overseers anymore! I already punished them. But there is still one more who has yet to pay...

I rifle through the book once more, though I have already read it over many times before. Taken from the house of a minor noble who played at dark rituals but cowered before the sight of real magic, this tome holes the answer to my most pressing question, the one that no amount of test subjects will solve.

The journal of Gabriel Stark. If only I had had the chance to meet you in person. You would have helped me, would have understood why it needed to be done. After all that was done, you would have wanted revenge as well.

Branded a heritic and burned alive. And then so was your wife and household. The Overseers had to be sure, of course. But it wasn't their fault, not entirely. They are not the source of the problem, just a symptom. You will be avenged, Gabriel, and I will ensure nothing like it ever happens again.

I will do this for you, for you have given to me the answer to how it can be done. Not in plain words, however, but I can piece it all together, infer all I need to know. How adventurous you became later in life, traveling all around. And the secrets you uncovered!

Oh, Gabriel. What you accomplished, what you were able to discover... It's a shame you died horrifically, screaming in pain as your flesh was burned from your body. Now doesn't that bring back memories...

I set the book down and pick up a sheaf of loose paper. These were taken from the compound on that very first night. I hadn't known their value back then, just saw them and scooped them up. Why did I do that? Perhaps it was fate, knowing my quest was righteous and pure. Of course, I didn't have a mission back then. It wasn't until later, after I had had a chance to think it all out, did I see what I had to do.

The sound of feet pounding the ground. Someone is running, very close by. I scowl and look up from my papers. What do I have to do to get some peace?! Perhaps I will have the chance to do my experiment.

And stand up and shuffle over to the main doors, long ago having fallen off their hinges and leaving a gaping hole in their place. I stand beside it with my back against the wall. I hear the runner turn the corner and come towards, panting heavily. As the footsteps pass, I dart around and grab onto a young boy in dirty and patched clothing. He's thin, scrawny, definately a street kid, looks to be about ten with a mop of dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

Not someone who will be missed. I grin at my new found luck and am about to drag him back inside when the most amazing thing happens. The boy is enveloped by a flash of blue light, the brightest point on the back of his left hand, and suddenly he is ripped from my grasp and is inexplainably now several feet ahead of where he was standing a moment before.

What is this?! Magic! Another marked by the Outsider! Oh, what luck! Fate does indeed want me to succeed, sending a helper to me like this! He must not realize what he has been chosen to do. Why else would he be running from me? I cannot let him get away!

My hand tingles with power. It is a power given to me by _him_, but if you want combat magic, you must use magic. It is the same with machines. You send newer, more advanced technologies to deal with those of an enemy, and so it is that you must send a 'witch' (as if such terms properly describe what I am) to combat another witch.

A portal as black as the void appears on the ground in front of the boy, releasing a swarm of rats. Oh, my lovelies, how I've missed you! If only you would stop devouring my test subjects...

The boy screams and scrambles back, fear and horror filling his eyes. So much like the Overseer. What fun we had. But the boy, I need him alive and functioning.

My lovelies smell the boy, the scent of his blood and fear. they squeak and follow him, eager for the taste of his flesh.

"No, no, no, my lovelies. This one ain't for gnawin'."

I place a hand on the boy's shoulder. He flinches, but his terror has him rooted to the spot. The horde encircles us, leaving only the small circle on which we stand clear. An island in a sea of rats.

"P-p-please, miss, lemme go! They're comin' fer me!"

"What manners! Tell me, child, have you seen the one with the black eyes, as cold and dark as night?"

I can instantly tell he knows exactly who I'm talking about. He freezes, shock clouding his features.

And then, more noise! Heavy boots hitting cobblestone, shouting, the snarling of dogs. The sound is fast approaching the secluded alley where we stand, and a new sort of fear enters the boy's face.

"The Overseers! Please, miss, lemme go! They're gonna catch me!"

Foolish, stupid boy. Begging to be let go when he could just use his power to escape. I thought the young were supposed to be clever. Ah, but the stupid are more easily molded and do not question the way of things.

The rats part, creating a path to the warehouse entrance. I guide the boy inside and to my little room. The rats cluster around the warehouse door, a seething horde of vermin blocking entry. That should keep the Overseers out. They will not look in here, both out of fear of their own safety and the belief that no one would seek refuge in a place such as this.

Still, I wait before speaking. Long minutes pass in silence, listening to the stomping of passing feet, to the shouts and snarls that grow fainter and fainter the farther away they become.

The boy, he is still terrified. Now, it is me he fears. He sits huddled in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest with his arms hugging them close. Obscured by dirt and mud, the Outsider's mark can be seen on the back of his left hand. Most wold have assumed it to be just another smudge, one amid many, but I know what to look for. The same decorates the back of my hand, and also the forehead of an Overseer, though that one is messy and lopsided (he would not stop squirming!).

I lift up my left hand, scarred and missing two fingers. I turn it around and show him the back. He recognizes the mark, glances down at his own hand, the looks at me with a renewed fear. Sigh. This is going to get tiresome.

"Tell me, child, how did you get yer mark?"

It takes a while before he speaks, long enough for me to get annoyed. His response is stammered, disjointed, incoherant.

"There was this house... Oakland dared... This purple shrine thing... Lookin' fer food... Witch... This blue flash..."

How he got his mark doesn't matter to me, so I stop him.

"The Overseers. How did they find out?"

Anger flashes in his eyes. Good. I can use that.

"Oakland... I told him 'bout the mark... They threw me out alone with nothin', then ratted me out fer a few coins."

Sorrow replaces the anger. At least some of the fear is gone, but he better not start crying.

"I don't blame 'em. Life's hard, an' food's hard to come by." Yep, tears well up in his eyes and leave a glistening trail down his dirt smeard face. "I just wish I never got this stupid mark! Do you... Do you know how to get rid o' it?"

He looks at me, hope filling his eyes as the tears fall down his face. I go over and slap him hard, leaving a bright red mark on his cheek. More shocked then hurt, he touches his face.

"There'll be no cryin'! How far has that gotten ya so far? It's a waste of time and effort."

The fear is back, and he huddles up tighter. I've forgotten how sensitive some people can be. Best try to calm him down.

"What's your name, child?" I ask. For some reason, being asked their name always seems to make people feel better. No idea why, but it works.

"Everyone calls me Oddball..."

That isn't a name! Names are important and should never be replaced with labels or other such nonsense. What is something without a name? Nothing! A name is so much more than a simple arrangement of letters. It's your identity, a confirmation of who you are, proof of your very existance! Names are power.

"What is your true name?"

He blinks and there is a pause before he answers.

"Nicholas."

"Nicholas, there ain't no way to get rid of a mark. But what if I told ya there's a way fer you to get revenge?"

"But I don't blame the others..."

"Not against them! They ain't the problem. Revenge against the one responsible fer everything the Overseers have done, everything they will do and are doing, against the one responsible for every sacrafice done in the name of dark magic, the responsible for all the superstition and fear."

He stares at me blankly. He doesn't understand. Couldn't fate have sent me someone just a little smarter?

"The Outsider."

The blank look persists. Maddening! I'll have to break him of that habit.

"How do ya get revenge on someone like the Outsider?"

I grin a spread my arms wide, indicating the mess of papers on the floor and tacked to the wall.

"Research. I'm gettin' closer, makin' progress, and I'll find a way."

Doubt is clear on his face. "Ya can't hurt the Outsider. Even if ya could, how would ya even get 'em to appear?"

"Through the marks, of course! Our power comes from him, so we're all connected! I just gotta figure out how to do it..."

He doesn't believe me, doesn't trust that I'll accomplish anything.

"If it was possible, the Overseer's woulda found a way already. And he'd see ya coming, anyway."

"I CAN DO IT!" I scream.

He flinches back. He's never going to believe it can be done. Time to try something else.

"Then leave, Nicholas. Be alone again. Good luck finding a safe place to stay or someone who won't rat you out."

He hesitates. He has no where else to go, no one else who would have him around. I get up and leave for a while, scavenging for anything useful and picking through trash along the city streets. People stare, stay as far away as they can, but I don't mind.

When I return to my little room several hours later carrying some beaten, dented cans that are otherwise fine, Nicholas is still there. It doesn't look like he had even moved an inch.


	2. An End to Youth

**Sorry this took so long. I've been really busy lately and completely drained of motivation.**

The _Lioness_ is old fashioned in its design, not like the 'modern' ships typically seen today. Really, does anyone even _like_ those giant, metal tubs? Crowded with people and constantly spitting out awful smelling black clouds from the burning coal used to power it. If you have the money, you could get on one powered by whale oil, but that's like to blow up at any given moment, especially out at sea where the water's rougher, and if you get caught in a storm death by fiery explosion is pretty much assured.

No, I'll take good old ships of wood and powered by sails, tried and perfected over centuries of use. Not to mention they are much more unique these days, making them perfect if you want to really make an entrance. And if you can, why wouldn't you? What's the point in restraint, in holding back?

Me, I do whatever I feel like doing. Not out of any sense of superiority or arrogance, but because I can. Or is it a sense of superiority and arrogance that makes me think I can do whatever I want? Huh, guess it doesn't really matter in the end why I do something, just that it's done and it amused me doing it.

The ship slowly glides through the water towards the city docks. The ship creaks slightly as it moves, a noise I may have found soothing if not for that damned captain and his little joke after I had first come aboard.

"Aye, she'll get you where ever you need to go, though she'll complain the whole way," he had said after a stiff wind had caused the ship to rock and creak. "But I reckon you'll hardly notice with the creakin' of your old bones."

The nerve of him, to say something like that, to me of all people! I'm capable of things people half my age couldn't even dream of! I, Deklin, destroyer of the Rossignols, am still the best damn thief in the isles and it's going to stay that way.

The gangplank is lowered and I am the first one to depart, not even looking at the sailors I had lived with for the past several days. I feel stiffness in my joints as I enter Dunwall's docks, but I quickly dismiss is as just a side effect of having being cooped up in a ship. I am _not_ getting old.

At first glance I can firmly say that Dunwall meets all my prior expectations: filthy, crowded, dark and foul smelling. What else is to be expected of such a large, highly populated city, especially with all those factories continuously belching out those clouds of noxious smoke? From what I've heard, it used to be worse before Empress Emily took her throne over twenty five years ago, but when almost an entire city is infected with plague and has hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up. Assuming, of course, it had turned into a graveyard.

I hadn't brought any luggage with me, having gotten onto the habit of always traveling light. If it was too much to be carried on your person, you should just leave it behind. Everything I need would be waiting for me at the apartment I had rented, as I had arranged several weeks prior to coming to Gristol. If the directions I had received were acurate, the apartment is situated on the southern end of Kaldwin's bridge. Not the wealthiest place, nor is it the poorest. It will be the perfect place for me to blend in, and slightly less likely a place for common thugs to come and try a shake down. I'm not completely familiar with the way crime works here or how the local criminal leaders will react to me killing their men, so best to try and just avoid any confrontation.

Take Serkonos, for instance. Completely different from Morley. In Arran, where I grew up, several criminal gangs claimed different parts of the city, and were often fighting with each other. Which is typical of most cities in the Isles, I have found. But in Cullero, there were still sperate gangs, but they all answered to the same boss. So they all played nice with each other, if a bit resentful of the situation, but never thought of trying to go independant. The up side of that: far less people killing each other in the street. The down side: kill some dim witted thug trying to extort you and suddenly everyone and their dog wants your head. Something about 'making a point' and showing how 'they were not to be messed with'. Really, the Rossignols never took things like that so personally.

Ah, but that is hardly relevant at the moment. I make my way through the busy streets, weaving between groups and carts. Dunwall, and Gristol as a whole, is quite a bit different from the rest of the isles. Scholars and scientists all flock to the city to share ideas and discoveries, and such a mixing of brilliant minds has given birth to numerous technologies. These inventions eventually make their way to the other isles in an ever widening circle, but the best, and the most dangerous, remain in the capital, at least until something better is created to replace it and then they are shared with the other islands, like feeding table scraps to the family dog.

As such, machinery is everywhere in Dunwall. Walls of light bar the unauthorized, arc pylons crackle with untold energy, tall-boys patrol the streets. Oh, to ply my trade in such a place. Stealing has become so dull, far too easy. These constructs will pose a much needed challenge. But I will be up to the task. Pilfer a few treasures from some self important nobles and I'll prove to everyone I'm still as good as I was thirty years ago. Not that I need any proof, mind you.

I'm brought back to the present with the sudden realization that someone just cut my purse. Quite adeptly too. He didn't run into me like an amateur, just quickly brushed my, hand swiping by my coin purse like he knew exactly where it was, then was gone. I barely felt a thing. I can respect such skill, but he really should have picked a better mark.

I spin around, hand just falling short of catching the back of the thief's clothing. Dammit, I remember being a lot quicker than that. I alert the thief that he had been caught and he breaks into a run.

With an annoyed growl I activate my mark, the world around me draining of colour as all motion slows to a stop. To my immense surprise, the thiefs hooded cloak retains its dark brown colour. The only reason the thief himself stands frozen is out of shock, head whipping around to take in the unnaturally still streets. He spins to face me, fear filled eyes visible from beneath the hood. He turns and flees.

Muttering a few curses beneath my breath, I follow. Not because I want my money, but because I want answers. What is going on? Why wasn't the thief effected when I stopped time? Does this... Does this mean he bears the Outsider's mark as well?

The thief darts between the people frozen in time, down dark, grey alleys. He throws the purse into the air where it hangs suspended, but I ignore it and continue the chase. It isn't long before my lungs begin to burn and my legs ache.

I am _not_ getting old! This a result of staying in a cramped ship, nothing more!

Whatever the reason may be, I'm not going to be able to keep up the pace for much longer. Or the spell, for that matter. I hold off for a bit, keeping some space between us, until the thief is just exiting an alley out onto a main street, and I let go of the magic.

Time reaserts itself and objects spring into motion. A cart, wheels rumbling and rattling along uneven pavestones, crashes into the thief, knocking him aside to fall to the ground. I catch up quickly, grab the thief by the arm and hall him to his feet and back into the alley, slamming his back into the hard, stone wall and pinning him there.. His hood falls back, revealing that the 'he' is really a 'she', and a shockingly pretty one at that, or at least she must have been at one time.

Clear blue eyes stare up at me, her face framed with golden hair. Long, dark eye lashes, full, red lips, clear, smooth shin. A rare beauty for sure, if only attention wasn't immediately drawn to the thick scar running across her face, starting at her left temple, narrowly missing her eyes and ending at the bottom of her right cheek.

"Please, don't hurt me, sir!" She begs with large, pleading eyes. "I'll do anything you want!"

She pulls her shoulders up and back, trying to make her already large breasts look bigger, then leans into me.

"I'll do anything you want," she says again, then promptly tries to slash my throat with a knife concealed in the sleave of her coat.

It was a good try, if expected. Try to distract someone long enough to get your shot. Unfortunately for her, I'm too experience for such tricks and not a slave to my baser lusts like some men.

_Younger men_, a voice in my mind whispers, but I ignore it.

"Nice try," I say, grabbing her hand. I squeeze until she lets it go and it clatters to the ground.

I take her other hand and rub the back of it with a gloved thumb until a black tatoo is revealed, hidden underneath a layer of make up.

"Now, this is how it's going to work. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them."

"Fuck you!" she hisses and spits in my face. "I already told you lot no, that I wanted no part in your little plan! Let me go!"

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about," I say, wiping the spit from my face. "Care to enlighten me?"

She seems surprised, then suspicious.

"I know what you are, how you did that little trick of yours. You're marked, and the only others I've met like that are those crazies raving on about revenge or some such nonesence. I've already escaped from them once. Are you saying you're not with them?"

"Hmmm... We'll add that to the list of things we need to talk about. Now, you can come with me now, or do I have to drag along? I promise I'll let you go afterwards, but I need some information. I'm Deklin, by the way."

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes, just staring at me for a long moment.

"Myra," she finally says.


End file.
